Hating Salvation
by Fangirl Defenestrator
Summary: Oneshot. When Will's ghost can't pass on, Jem has a few words for his old friend during his last moments on Earth.


**Author's Note:** I really don't know what I was doing in writing this. -_- However, any kind of feedback is welcome!

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The inky night was coated in a fine mist that twirled and trailed to bask London in a gloom of drizzly hindrance. Doors were locked shut, houses silenced save for the flickering outlines of activity peeking through windows as if that could block out the dampness from seeping into their bones. The outline of a figure capped in dark hair that seemed to blend against the surroundings made his way down one lonely street after another with the detachment of a meandering drunkard. Why a young man with such fine bearings was out on a night such as this no one could know.

His strides were purposeful. Deep blue eyes rose and swept across each new change of scene without elicited interest and with a lazy fluidity, though his muscles were taut under his long overcoat. He was yearning for anything to jump out from the shadows and relieve him of his restlessness with a few sprays of ichor and thump of a severed limb. Rash heat coursed through his blood, heat he had hoped seeing London could extinguish like quick fingers to a flame. Yet upon being out for an hour, Will's head had still not seemed to cool.

Once again, he found himself on the bank of the steadily coursing Thames. Will's eyes rested for a moment on the rippling reflection of the feeble sickle anchored above the river; even the moon seemed off tonight.

Then, with hesitating fingers, he sank his slender hand into a pocket resting just above his hip. He quickly thought the better of it and withdrew like the idea had burned him. But of course, his pocket was once more payed a visit a minute later, though this time he had met his cargo by the look of grim regret already blooming across his features.

"I'd think it through a bit more if I were you."

The lapping of water on the Thames' bank substituted for a pregnant silence, though more seemed to transfer in those few moments than any words could.

Will's hands only closed tighter over his trinket. He made no move to turn around and pay his visitor acknowledgement of having heard anything. Perhaps, he thought with a rueful smile, his heart had at last gained enough influence in his person to bring on hallucinations. But no, this voice was more familiar than his heart ever was.

He smoothly slid the golden coin within his palm back into his pocket. It came to a rest and his pulse resumed its usual rhythm.

"Sit next to me, Jem," Will announced so quietly he feared an incoming breeze would whip his courage away. Will lowered himself to the earth without once removing his gaze from the moon's reflection.

"I'd rather not."

Even without seeing his oldest friend, Will could detect that permanent barrier that had arisen between them muffle his words alone. Jem's tone seemed cold, concise, conserved.

"Have it your way." Will passed off Jem's rejection with a casual shrug. One leg bent and the other up, he rested his palms on the cool earth to support himself.

"Death has been kind to you."

Will nodded half-heartedly.

"The clock reversed fifty-nine years… How enlightening that your soul appears to be nothing more than an angsty seventeen year old boy."

Will dug his fingers into the dirt, a grin stealing across his lips. "I like staying pretty. Of course, I haven't seen myself like this in a long time." He held up his pale, svelte hand and twisted his wrist in examination before letting it fall back next to his leg.

"I just saw you no more than an hour ago, Will, your frail body already taken with the pallor of death next to Tessa's sobbing frame. Why not use your final moments to pay her a visit rather than admiring your youthful illusion? Or worse yet, waste your time paying a tribute to the accursed London you hated so much."

Will remained silent.

"You know Tessa couldn't see me even if I appeared before her. She's not the reason I haven't passed on yet, though I can't say I don't regret leaving her." Will's eyes darkened. "At first I thought my spirit was restless for London, for the old thrill of killing upon these streets. I feel so… _alive_ now, Jem. I can feel the blood coursing through my veins, the cold clinging to my bones. I could take down ten demons if they threw themselves at me."

Will drew out his old seraph blade and began tracing runes in the earth. "But the river draws me and the more I struggle, the fainter I feel, until one day l merge into the London landscape and become I'm nothing more than a spirit who couldn't let go."

"Then let go. I stopped you from passing on because I could sense you weren't appeased, that life still owed you something. I was prepared to fetch you anything until you could rest easily and willingly wade into the water. You of all people should know the importance of accepting death rather than being undermined from life."

Will's hand stopped, his blade resting against the accumulation of his fervid tracing in the form of a small mound. He recalled applying these runes to Jem's skin like it was yesterday, the memory in heightened detail as a gift of death. One after another, more crashed with the impact of a train, layer upon layer of geology unearthed after burial, each past year a shovelful of dirt that had rained down with finality.

"Forgiveness," the blue-eyed boy murmured at last without raising his gaze. "I'm anchored here by forgiveness."

"I've already forgiven you years ago for any misdemeanor you could've committed, Will. You know that. I hold no grudges for the happy life you've lead."

Jem had still not shown his face, but Will was certain his eyes would reflect the sincerity they had always held, level and unwavering even in his own moody gales.

"Your forgiveness is what I cannot come to terms with." Will's back straightened. "You deserve a thousandfold of what I've been offered. I've lived the life you were allowed to taste but not feast upon. Tessa, health, children… aging." He clenched his fists. "You should hate me, wish the fires of Hades on the man who whisked away your happiness without effort in the slightest."

"Do not flatter yourself, William. The misoccurrences I have experienced are hardly of your doing. You've been a puppet of life as much as I have, though the versions of the same play we've acted out sure have been butchered with edits."

Will cracked another wry smile, though his eyes were still veiled with sadness.

"But I suppose the question I have to ask is what you expect me to do."

Will rose his eyes to the sky. "Oh, a few witty insults wouldn't hurt. Like old times, no?"

"If that's the case, what can I do but happily oblige, Welsh swine?"

Will shook with laughter. "Is that the best you can do now, Jem?"

"I hate you."

Will stopped, his eyes thoughtful. The angles of his face cast sharp shadows across his features to make the hollows of his eyes so pronounced that for a second, seventy-six year old Will had once more reinstated himself.

"Say that again."

"I hate you."

Will grinned, rising to his feet. "Again."

"I hate you."

Will crouched near the water and stuck his hand in the current as if to test the warmth.

"I hate you."

He tossed his overcoat off to the side, though not without retrieving his coin.

"I hate you."

His hand now heavy with the lone burden of his pocket, Will sported his seraph blade in the other. The coin and weapon were tickets to death, money and war the toppling of civilizations. Each gained in brilliance the more Jem repeated himself.

_IhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyou._ The mantra sparked his blood.

Will was in the water now, the beams of light erupting from his enclosed hand cutting through the swirling river enough to illuminate the junk and castoffs resting at the bottom. He was joining them.

"Louder, Jem, louder!" he hollered, eyes alight with life.

Until at last, the top of his head went under, taking his light along with it so the riverbank was once more cast in darkness with nothing more than the weak moon trying to cut through the fog.

"I hate you," Jem whispered, though the words were absorbed by his surroundings until it was as if he had said nothing at all.


End file.
